Taste of Perfection
by xybolic
Summary: 'Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.' -Hunter Thompson


**O HAI. To those not stalking me, I'm not dead... yet.**

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**Taste of Perfection**

His footsteps, though muffled by the carpeting, woke her up; being a police officer had taught her to stay alert at all times, even in dreams. Her eyes snapped open, only to be enveloped by an almost opaque darkness. It took her a few seconds to settle her vision and even less to orient herself. Light glowed from the window, where she faced, and faintly illuminated the array of furniture within a metre of vicinity. A blanket covered her up until her neck, in addition to the pair of underwear she wore in bed. Behind her, she felt him crawl underneath the cover, the mattress groaning under his weight, and mould himself to her form. He placed a hand on her left shoulder, ran it down to her side, and then hooked his forearm to her waist and gently drew her close.

'I missed you all day,' he whispered, burying his face in her hair. His hand settled on the firm flesh of her stomach, stroking up and down, and rubbed his thumb on the skin every now and then.

A silent, quivering sigh escaped her. _Not... as good_.

She closed her eyes tight and clenched her fingers from under the pillow as anger began to boil inside her. It was stupid. And useless. Every time it crossed her mind, she would be left feeling empty, devoid of any emotion except the feeling of regret that would haunt her for what would seem like an eternity, and a gaping hole in her chest would gnaw on her insides.

This had to stop. It was her choice and she would have to deal with it.

She rolled back, one hand raised to push her lover, surprising him; he had thought she was asleep. Looming overhead like a predatory feline, she tossed a leg to his other side and climbed to straddle him, blanket slipping down in the process.

After the initial shock had worn off, he smiled roguishly and let his eyes slowly rise from the pair of black knickers up to her face, taking in the glory of her frame's dim outline. He pushed himself up and then, as he was directly in front of her, began to kiss her neck and down to her shoulder. One hand was on her leg, stroking, while the other slithered up her spine, the ticklish, feathery touch making her arch against him. With a snap, her bra released the tension on her chest—physically, at least. He brushed his fingers lightly on her arms as he slid the garment off. The sensation, mingled with the pleasure of his tongue on her collarbone, made her shiver. She felt every contact of his skin to hers, every touch, and she responded with a moan, a downward thrust… but it was her body alone.

Her eyes were blank, showing no signs that his mouth had now journeyed in a southerly course, as honestly opposed by her warm wetness below. They were fixated upon a spot on the wall. It was white, she knew, even in the darkness, as white—as pale—as _his_ body during the nights they had been together, contrasting with the slim, brown fingers she'd run down his length.

_Move on_.

'Where?' she mouthed, her lips barely moving.

She felt regret stinging in her eyes and blurring her vision. Tiny pricks ached inside her. After all these year, and yet, she wouldn't—she couldn't let everything go... It enraged her.

Growling, she pressed her hands onto her lover's chest and pushed him with an even greater force than before, making the bed creak and the headboard smash onto the wall. The look of surprise on his face quickly faded, and he gasped, as she grazed her crotch against the bulge on his trousers, and then forcefully grinded her hips against his. She her bit her lower lip which did nothing suppress her sigh.

Through hooded eyes, she studied the lying figure momentarily, and then ripped his shirt open, a couple of buttons popping. She dived, a hand on his nape, and planted a ferocious, needy kiss on his lips, penetrating his mouth with her tongue, savagely searching inside—fast, hard, as though telling him exactly how she wanted to be taken.

Closer, he needed her to be closer. He grabbed a fistful of her hair roughly—just the way she liked it—and pushed her down, pulling her close, while his other hand swept the length of her torso and fondled with her breast—pinching, tugging, squeezing, each gesture eliciting delicious sounds from her. He bucked his hips, wanting much more, grunting in annoyance at the obstructing layers of clothing. She responded with equal desire by frantically pressing herself down, the movements reducing her moans into shuddering breaths in his mouth.

Her hand moved onto his stomach, feeling his hard, tensed muscles. Each contour was well-define and seemed almost foreign to her despite their frequent intimacy.

_So different. So, _so_ different._

The digits rose up to his chest, and fiercely clawed down back down. She marked the end of the trail with a hard bite on his lower lip. The taste of blood from the injury reached her mouth as she suckled—

She pulled back and blinked.

Sparks. The wound would call for healing magic. Of course.

In the past. _Sparks_.

And she gawked, trying to catch her breath.

His manhood couldn't take the lack of penetration any longer and so, hardly noticing her pause, he flipped their position over in one swift movement, which brought her back to present. He straightened up, kneeling between her legs, and impatiently shrugged his shirt off. At the same time, she reached for his trousers, pulled her upper body closer, and fumbled with the buttons.

'D'Arvit,' she hissed in frustration, chest heaving.

After tossing his shirt aside, he nudged her hands away from his fly and completed the task she had set to herself. He slipped down his trousers, along with his boxer shorts, exposing himself. The sight of him, he observed, increased the speed of her breathing. Her hips kept shifting in their position, squirming, desperate for more action. Satisfied with the effect he had on her, he relieved himself of the loathed garment.

He crawled back on top of her and kissed the valley between her mounds. One time, he had heard his subordinate officers talking about the fabled spot a little above the cleavage where the true smell of a woman could be found. A secret scent of women that clung to their skin. Well, he couldn't care less. Things would turn blue if he began an invisible-spot-search he had no interest with in the first place. He sat on his calves as his lips reached her navel.

Her nether tensed and clenched. On either of her sides, her hands curled into a ball, clutching the sheets, as a whimper escaped from her lips.

It was clear to him what she wanted because he did too. And who was he to deny it to her? It would be bad for his organ's health to tease a fiery elf who could bring back worse retribution if her temper and patience were tested. He hooked his thumbs on each side of her knickers and, as she lifted her hips, pulled down, while he moved in the same direction. He couldn't help baring his teeth hungrily as he removed the last hindering piece of clothing.

Her lips trembled in anticipation as he licked and grazed the blade of his tongue over her inner thighs. It felt ticklish and _oh so good_, but not enough. He was _so near._

Thankfully, before she lost it and forced him to do her bidding, he crept back up and lowered his head adjacent to hers.

'How do you want it?' he purred in her ear, his lips almost touching the tip. A hand massaged her below, quickening her breathing.

'Make… me... forget my name,' she replied through gritted teeth, digging her nails on his back. _Make me forget him_.

He did not ask for any more. In slow, agonising progression, he lowered himself, brushing his nose over her skin, and kissed the spot below her navel before slipping his arms below her thighs. Hoisting her heels over her shoulders, he grunted as he prepared to enter her. And when he did, her mind exploded.

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It was cold. Of course it was. Being unclothed in the middle of a winter night tended to do that, but they didn't mind; their bodies provided each other warmth.

She traced her index finger aimlessly on his back, eliciting shivers from him as she nipped his ear. Human ears weren't as sensitive as the elves' pointed ones, she knew that, but they were still one of their erogenous zones, so her actions slightly hindered his unsteady progress of carrying her through the archway that connected his study and bedroom. As he closed the door with his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the mess they had left behind.

It seemed silly to be aroused by his talk of art and architecture. Then again, he added the topic of eroticism as well. And he was Artemis Fowl, after all. He would always get what he wanted. Even if it meant leaving his drafting table in an irreparable state. She could still feel the pleasure when she dissolved at his touch—cautious, yet confident, as he studied every bit of her, knowing her scent, finding out her reactions on his delicate stimuli, saving each data in a file in his head for the next time and making the most out of everything in case there won't be a next time.

He gently lay her down on the bed, the duvet exceptionally more welcoming than the sloping surface of his drafting table, and he kissed her again. Slowly, without breaking contact, she lifted herself to stand up. A tiny bit of apprehension rang at the back of his mind when he felt her lips stretching into a mischievous smile against his, but he promptly ignored this and just enjoyed the moment.

Without warning, she swept the hand he used for support with her feet and he flumped face down on the bed with a muffled grunt. She wasted no time for her next move, which was a quick jump onto his back, her small frame heavy enough to immobilise him. Just as he began to try to raise himself (careful lest he'd flip her onto the floor), she seized his arms, twisted them behind his back, and used her knees to keep them in place. Leaning, she tugged his hair to make him face her and meet her eyes.

'Stay down, love,' she mewled, lacing her words with a very thin layer of Mesmer. 'Don't thrash.' And he didn't.

Satisfied, she straightened up, her eyes searching the room. She smiled a smile she could've only learned from him when her eyes landed on the door leading back to his study, her thoughts on the spot where his drafting table stood (or once stood erect before their little activity), particularly on the floor just beside one of its leg where his straightedge ruler had fallen off on. The straightedge's nylon cord.

_Perfect_, she thought triumphantly. _Now, for a blindfold material..._

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He called her name, which brought her mind back to him.

She lowered her heels from his shoulders and coiled her legs around him, using her calves to push him harder, to make him delve deeper—because, _gods, it was just not enough—_and then joined him desperately in his rhythm.

'A-Ar—' Her fingers tightened their hold on the headboard behind her. She was almost there. Just a little bit. More. _More_. 'Aaaah!'

Commands, slamming bodies, mingling sweat, and cries. Her body convulsed with tremulous spasm and, simultaneously, he bent over and dropped to his hands, shuddering and groaning. With a final plunge, he came, a split second after her.

And she lay there, gasping for breath. The pleasure from her climax began to fade, leaving her feeling unfulfilled for some reason.

_Fairy_ tails_ do not give much satisfaction, do they?_

It was odd, but as she stared at the ceiling, she flushed, shame enveloping her, as though she had cheated. On whom and with whom, she was not entirely sure. Or at least, she was not to acknowledge it. She was frightened to acknowledge the truth. She _needed_, more than anything, to move on and stop thinking about him.

His lover gave her one last kiss on the lips that night as he pulled himself from her. She could feel his satisfied smile. It lasted only for a second, but it was enough to make her feel disgusted at herself.

And she met his eyes for the first time that night, in vain hope that everything was only an illusion, and that she really was with the person she loved. Her heart sank, disappointed, when, instead of reflecting her own, she found them to be deep purple.

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**... I'm not even going to try to make some sense out of my messed-up timeline. If anyone's interested about the flashback, see **_**Architecture Chatter**_** and chapter 22 of **_**A Nib's Babble**_**.**

**Okay, the characters are Holly _and_ Artemis instead of Holly and Trouble because (1) this is A/H. Don't argue. I wrote this; I know it's A/H. And (2) I'm a troll. *insert trollface here***

**Now I'm dead. Eep! *hides***

**Please review. Constructive criticisms (and death threats) are welcome.**


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